


Gifts

by topdollarwitch



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Long-Haired Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Mention of switching, Mutual Masturbation, Otabek is 20, Pining, Sappy Shit, Sex Toys, Young Love, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, Yuri is 17, author got 4 cavities writing this, japanese shit, mention of bottom yuri, some Christmas foolery, this gay as hell !!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:05:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13157919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topdollarwitch/pseuds/topdollarwitch
Summary: Gift for nomanono for The Madness Secret Satan! Hope you enjoy this sappy vaguely Christmas-y slightly smutty fluff.For Otabek, the first gift should have been the first clue, and yet he remained oblivious.





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nomanono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/gifts).



For Otabek, the first gift should have been the first clue, and yet he remained oblivious.

The steering him into an empty toilet stall, pressing flush against him, and breathing _’Can I kiss you?’_ after three hours of free drink was a bit of a bolder statement. But there was the _unexpected_ gift earlier in the night that really should have been the first clue.

Actually, technically, it wasn’t the first gift. Yuri had brought Otabek things akin to gifts before--souvenirs--and Otabek had done the same. When Yuri came to Almaty for a long weekend the April after they first met he had extracted a box of pastila from his bag and passed it over the bed to Otabek, muttering _‘Thanks for having me or whatever…’_ When Otabek came to St. Petersburg the following fall, he had presented Yuri with a box of chocolates, an equally ritualized gesture. 

But souvenirs didn’t count, really.

The first _real_ gift was on that humid night in Hasetsu in August. There was a festival, with lanterns and food stalls and the entire town crowded into the main street next to the station. Yuri had followed Katsuki and Nikiforov back to Japan that summer, after Katsuki’s father threw his back out, under the premise that he would help out at the onsen and Nikiforov could continue coaching. 

_There’s all these festivals this time of year, and I’m about to go fucking nuts, so you should come._ And so Otabek did.

After wandering through the lights and sounds of the main street, they reconvened on a tarp the Nishigori family had put down by the river to watch fireworks. They had a cooler which Viktor and Mr. Nishigori, already drunk from dinner, had lugged bumpily between them across town. Yuri was sneaking chu-hi’s and sitting close to Otabek, their shoulders bumping. It was Otabek’s second day in Hasetsu.

“So, I have something to give you.” Yuri said, turning to him. He smelled like artificial green apple. He leaned a little into Otabek’s side to wrestle with his yukata, his cool hair brushing his shoulder. Otabek couldn’t help but notice a pale swath of thigh peek through the dark cloth before Yuri procured his wallet from somewhere around his midsection.

Otabek had thought, for a long time, that having a crush on Yuri would be fine. It was fine, he needn’t be ashamed or heartbroken or anything dramatic, as long as he could still talk to him every day and make him laugh and stay up late talking in hotel rooms. _Which was just as fucking sappy._ But anyway, usually it _was_ fine.

It was moments like this, with Yuri huffing into his shoulder and his leg visible all the way up to the tight shorts he had wriggled into _right in front of him_ after _sitting together ass naked in the hot spring_ , it was moments like this where it was...not really fine.

Yuri carefully extracted something bright turquoise and grey from behind his I.D. card.

“Put out your arm.”

Otabek obeyed _(how could he not?)_ and Yuri painstakingly tied a bracelet around his left wrist. It was silky floss woven into alternating patterns of grey and blue.

“Does it have a meaning?”

“Not really.” said Yuri. He pulled his own long sleeve back to reveal a neon pink and purple bracelet of his own. “The girls were making them the other day...I thought I’d make one for you too.” 

It was dark, and Otabek couldn’t see Yuri’s face well. He knew that Yuri had been looking after the triplets often during the day, and helping in the beginner class at Ice Castle. He had received several snaps with the girls giggling and braiding his hair, or shrilly repeating something Yuri had taught them in broken Russian. 

“Thanks.”

Yuri had chuckled lowly, the way he does, and had looked like he wanted to say something, but then a green glow and rush of gasps enveloped the riverbank, and the fireworks drowned out any possibility of conversation.

Yuri had gotten to the point later on in the night, anyway.

***

A day later they had stopped in a convenience store on the way back from the beach, and Otabek bought them both ice cream. He had to hold it in his left hand, so he could hold on to Yuri with his right. It was the first gift he bought him as his _boyfriend._

***

“You look cute.”

Otabek almost regrets it as soon as he says it. _Almost._ Yuri has been called _cute_ his whole life, and at seventeen and nearing six feet of wiry athlete he’s _almost_ convinced the world otherwise.

But...he’s still cute.

“Thanks, asshole. So do you.” Yuri leans over to check his phone, bangs falling conveniently in front of his face. Otabek knows he’s red. Last Thursday, Otabek had mentioned that he really liked when Yuri wore his teal training jacket, it matched his eyes. Yuri had actually slapped his hands over his face and groaned. _It was fucking cute._

_‘You’re gay, Beka. God.’_

_‘...yeah, I am?’_

Yuri had ended the call with a hasty _‘Ireallylikeyoureyestoo, goodnight!’._

Sure enough, when Yuri tosses his head back to the screen, his cheeks are tinged an attractive shade of pink. “So, like, Mila’s seeing that speed skater, right? Look at Sara’s Twitter and tell me she’s not having a lesbo shitfit…”

Yuri had been Otabek’s best friend for two-and-a-half years, and his _boyfriend_ for three months. Otabek had seen Yuri spit obscenities at paparazzi that would make Putin himself blush, had seen him drunkenly sob in a toilet stall on multiple occasions, had seen him beam down at him from the podium and hum along to the national anthem he claimed to hate. But seeing Yuri blush is a hidden prize he had just discovered. It hadn’t been long. How should they talk? _Can I call you babe? Is that okay? It feels weird..._

The conversation quickly turns to the upcoming Internationaux de France in the first week of November. Finally, Yuri and Otabek are scheduled together. Finally, they can _be_ together. Japan had been a blur of sweaty palms and frantic, muffled kisses in the dark or in an empty room or behind a tree on the way to the rink. Not knowing when to hold his hand. Falling asleep pressed together, despite the heat, and waking up smelling like Yuri.

After returning to Almaty and St. Petersburg, it had only been a matter of time before Yuri couldn’t stand it and had sent an early-morning snap, fresh out of the shower, towel doing a very poor job of covering much at all. _Miss you, Beka._

And a second snap, five minutes later, and only five seconds long. The towel had been nowhere to be seen. Despite having taken the short week they had been _together_ together as a challenge to explore every inch of each other that they could, Otabek was still astonished enough to drop his phone, and scramble to pick it up off the floor next to his bed just as he heard Yuri moan his own name. Otabek had never been so glad to live alone.

And so he had had no choice. Yuri had started it.

To their credit, the _Skype_ thing had taken a month to begin. Yuri, angry about someone or other mouthing off to him at the rink one night, had taken a stroll to Lilia’s liquor cabinet before their call and chosen a vodka she “wouldn’t even touch and kept for guests” to ease his stress.

Emboldened by the alcohol, Yuri had come up with another way to relieve stress that night. The idea had always been there, but before trying it the thought had made Otabek feel a little light-headed. _Like, what do we do? Just look at each other?_

_We can make some sounds. Like...talk…_

Yuri had been full of good ideas that night.

Presently, Yuri wriggles to sit up a little straighter on his bed.

“So, it’s your birthday.”

“Next weekend.”

“Right. I got you...an early present.” Yuri’s voice wavers, like he’s on the verge of letting out a secret.

“Oh? You didn’t have to, I’ll see you in two weeks--” Otabek starts.

“No, just listen!” Yuri hisses, and drops his voice conspiratorially. “So, Lilia’s at this dinner thing with the hags tonight. _And_ I have the day off tomorrow.” He pauses, as though Otabek should understand what these two facts equal.

“...Yuri, you didn’t book anything, did you?” Otabek remembered the first time Yuri had come to visit him in Almaty. He had been given three days notice.

“Ah, no. Wish I had. That would have been good...” Yuri looks wistful for a moment, then snaps his gaze back to the camera. “Next time. Anyway, remember that, uh, thing we tried?”

Yuri’s hunched over so far in front of his laptop that his face almost takes up the entire screen, eyes wide and waiting.

“The thing? Like, what thing?” Otabek snorts, and knows exactly the type of grin he’s failing to suppress. “We tried...a few things.”

“I mean. You know. You _know._ ” Yuri hasn’t blinked in a solid minute, Otabek reckons. “We ah...when we tried…”

“When we tried to fuck?”

_“Beka!”_

Otabek chuckles, he can’t help it. Yuri is flushed to his collarbones. For someone who interjects obscenities into everyday conversation as naturally as he breathes, and is equally talented at interjecting them into _other_ situations (as Otabek has recently learned), Yuri is surprisingly reticent to actually talk about sex itself. Or at least the things that him and Otabek do. In Hasetsu, it had been a lot of _‘I really liked how you, uh, did the thing…’_ and _‘Let’s do the thing, that_ one _thing, again…’._

It takes him a moment, but Yuri composes himself.

“Yeah. Anyway. So...I bought a thing. To like...get me...ready.” Yuri has gone from flushed to beet-red, and his eyes are focused somewhere between the keyboard and his lap.

“...oh?” _Oh._

“Okay, just wait there.” Yuri scrambles from the bed and leaves Otabek to mumble _‘Waiting.’_ to a very disinterested Potya left curled alone near Yuri’s pillow. Otabek watches as the lights dim, and then return in the softer haze of the standing lamp Yuri rarely uses. He hears drawers open and shut, and then Yuri is tossing a box onto the bed and removing the cat with a whispered _‘Sorry! Sorry!’_

After almost a full minute Yuri comes back into frame, and he’s stripped to his briefs, the grey ones with leopard spots. He sits down on his haunches on top of the comforter and smirks.

“Turn your music up a little.”

“Your wish is my command.” It’s hard to obey any commands at the moment though, with Yuri shaking his hair out of its bun and running a hand up and down his leg in a way that is undoubtedly more calculated than he makes it look. _Something to get me ready…_ Otabek turns up the acoustic playlist he already had on, then decides to take his shirt off. How to begin… _this_...hasn’t yet gotten any less awkward.

“Nice.” Yuri mutters, then stretches to position his pillows behind his back. “Wish I was there with you, babe.”

_Babe._ It’s the second time he’s used that word. The first was when he was about to fall asleep and near-rambling a week before.

“Me too.” Otabek leans back in his chair, mirroring Yuri. “You look really hot, you know.”

“I thought I looked cute?” Yuri raises his eyebrow, then bites his lip and runs a hand down his stomach, getting to the point. The lip-bite. Otabek twitches in his sweatpants. That’s _one_ weakness of his that Yuri’s already discovered.

“You can be both.”

Yuri _hmms_ and palms himself through the fabric, giving a quick squeeze to something _very solid_ just under his waistband, then pulls his hand away.

“Yura. Are you gonna show me what you bought?”

“Impatient.” Yuri chides, but reaches into the box and produces two objects. One, a bottle of lube that Otabek is no stranger to. Two, a bright pink cylinder, about as long as Yuri’s hand, with the end bent at a gentle angle. “It’s not as big as you, but…”

“It’s a vibrator?” Otabek tries to will the images that his mind unwittingly begin to conjure away. Yuri with his face buried in his pillow and ass proudly raised, frantically _preparing_ himself for Otabek. Yuri, clapping a hand over his own mouth against the wall of his shower, which Otabek had never seen before but had no problem imagining when inspiration struck him. If he was thick with interest earlier, he’s edging closer to full attention now.

“Just watch.” Yuri twists the bottom and a soft humming buzz answers Otabek’s question. Yuri readjusts himself once again on the pillows and proceeds to trace the outline of his bulge.

“Damn.”

Yuri chuckles lowly. “I haven’t even started yet.” He runs the tip over what Otabek can only imagine must be the underside of the head and sighs. Otabek begins to palm himself, shadowing Yuri’s movements.

“I think about you all the time, Otabek.” Yuri ends his sentence with a small groan, running the vibrator all the way from his balls to the straining tip, now evident. A dark spot blooms against grey.

“I think about you too. Wanna touch you so bad, Yura.” Otabek feels the fog of lust cloud his head, making speech difficult and most shreds of modesty evaporate. He runs a hand up his chest and pinches his nipple, like Yuri used to reach up to do when he had his mouth on him...

Yuri sets the vibrator down, clicking it off, and sits up to shuffle his way closer to the camera. His narrow hips, briefs pulled taught, encompass the screen. He rocks his hips from side to side in a way that is undeniably _cute_ , slowly pulling the waistband lower and lower with the movement. Otabek holds his breath. Yuri pauses, and one index finger disappears under the elastic. When he brings it back up, a thin string of precum is just visible trailing after.

“Wanna touch you too. Wanna do more than touch you…” comes the low murmur of Yuri’s voice from somewhere above, and then he’s pulling his pants down properly. His bobbing cock is flushed dark, contrasting with the pale hair and skin of his stomach. Otabek’s mouth waters. He touches himself through his pants, wanting to last as long as possible. He’s already wet under the fabric.

Yuri leans back on the pillows and quickly removes the briefs altogether, his cock slapping against his stomach. He picks up the vibrator and hesitates, as though unsure where exactly he wants to use it. Otabek knows how sensitive Yuri is, and knows he won’t last long going directly at his cock.

“Nipples.” says Otabek, and Yuri’s eyes snap up to the screen. A grin grows on the corner of his mouth. He raises the vibrator to trace a wide circle around his left nipple.

“You like do-o-oing that? Telling me what to do-o?” Yuri pants, breath coming in staccato as he grazes over the sensitive bud. Otabek doesn’t respond, mind detouring to lustful half-thoughts of grabbing Yuri’s ass and squeezing and running his tongue up that warm, hard cock…

Yuri seems to be in a similar state. He’s inched his other hand down between his legs, and is grinding his hips down against his fingers with each panting breath. He splays his legs and scoots down, giving Otabek a view that would make him blush to remember.

“Where do you want me to put it, Otabek?” Yuri over-enunciates the last syllable of his full name with a echoing click, and Otabek finds a new thing to ask for in the future. 

“Where do _you_ want it? Show me, _Yuratchka._ ” Emboldened by Yuri’s widening eyes, Otabek cants his hips up to pull himself out of his sweatpants. He watches Yuri gaze at him and swallow. He wants to nip at the spot on this neck that bobs.

Yuri pats a hand around the comforter until he finds the bottle of lube. Otabek is careful to grip his shaft in the most featherlight of touches. Watching Yuri trace his own twitching hole, sigh as he presses into himself with one finger, it’s almost torture. Otabek feels already like a little too much friction at the wrong moment could make him blow all over his belly like a pre-teen. He’s seen Yuri finger himself before. Hell, he’s used his own fingers to help get Yuri off. It doesn’t make it any less agonizingly _hot_.

Yuri adds a second finger and gasps on his inhale. His cock twitches against his stomach, untouched.

“Your cock looks so good, Beka.”

“You look amazing, Yura.”

Yuri finally takes his cock into his hand, stroking the foreskin languidly over the head. He starts panting, a soft _‘Oh! Oh!’_ after each breath. He cants his hips to the rhythm.

“Can you do a third?”

“Ye-ah.” Yuri pauses, and slowly slides his ring finger in alongside the others. He hisses softly and rolls his head back, but it seems to slide in just fine. “So good.” he whispers a moment later.

“Can you reach like that?”

“Not quite. The angle’s…kinda...hard…” He opens his eyes and raises his head.

“Wanna see?” Yuri breathes.

“Fuck, yes. Yes.”

Yuri pulls his glistening fingers out carefully, squeezes more lube into his palm, and pumps it a few times along the slim shaft of the vibrator.

“It’s not as big as you, Beka.” Yuri gazes down at Otabek as he slides the vibrator in, pulls it out, twists it a little. He reaches down with his other hand and turns it on, then closes his eyes tight.

“ _Fuck.”_

Otabek can’t decide if watching Yuri makes him want to grab him by the hips and fuck him until he’s whimpering, or drive him crazy himself with this piece of plastic and battery. Yuri hooks one leg behind his elbow and knits his eyebrows, fucking himself as though hitting _just there_ is the difference between life and death.

“You look so fucking good, Yura.”

Yuri responds with a high sound between a gasp and a sigh and locks eyes with Otabek.

“I want your cock so bad.” He breathes it in barely more than a whisper, but it drives Otabek wild. Yuri reaches up and begins pumping his neglected cock with his free hand. “I want it to be you, Beka, _fuck_ , I need you to fuck me soon, Ithinkaboutit all the-e t-time…”

Otabek has heard Yuri curse and seen him writhe and come close to begging, but he’s never seen him _babble_. _I need you to fuck me soon._

Yuri holds the vibrator just so within him and begins focusing on the head of his cock, like he does when he’s close. He’s flushed all the way down his chest, his head is straining against the pillows behind him, and he’s making a half-sob, half-whine that Otabek’s never had the privilege of hearing before. It’s too much. Otabek can feel his balls tighten, if he doesn’t stop now he’s going to come. 

“Yura, fuck, _fuck_ , I’m about to…”

Yuri’s eyes snap open and dart to Otabek.

“Come for me Otabek, come on, comeoncomeon _comeon_ …”

Otabek does as he’s told, moaning Yuri’s name and spurting all the way up to his chest. Yuri’s whine reaches a crescendo and he jerks bodily forward once, twice, and then he’s coming onto his stomach. “Beka, Beka, Beka…”

Afterwards, when they’ve cleaned up, Yuri rolls onto his side and buries his face into the blanket next to him. When he looks back up, his eyes are wet.

“Yura, babe, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” 

Otabek remains silent, pulling his shirt back on over his head. He runs a hand through his hair. He’s _tired._

“It’s just so good, coming like that. I want you to be here with me, and I want to do it to you, too, Beka…”  
Yuri stops talking, and puts his head down into the crook of his elbow. Otabek knows, he knows so well. He doesn’t know what to say.

***

“Getting married on Christmas, what a crock of fuckin shit.”

Yuri buries his hands in his coat pockets and grimaces as if in physical pain as he passes a group of carolers. Montreal is freezing, and they had finished their hot cider. For someone from one of the coldest countries in the world, Yuri cannot stand weather requiring more than a jacket.

“You didn’t complain at the Christmas Market.”

“They gave me booze.” Yuri had seemed uncharacteristically cheerful after a single cup of cider, and that was how Otabek discovered that they had been given the real stuff.

They round a corner and the cathedral comes into sight, across the square. Otabek runs a hand up and down Yuri’s spine as they walk, and he quiets. It’s a sight, with the yellow-bronze street lamps and light haze of snow just beginning to fall.

“Hey, there’s a fountain.” As if on cue, Yuri starts off toward the fountain in the center of the square. Otabek follows, wishing he had brought his hat. He had to agree, Jean had some gall to invite people from all over the world to Canada during December. He supposed most guests being travelers by the nature of their work made it impossible to refuse.

They sit. After a moment, Yuri pulls his gloved hand out of his pocket to take Otabek’s.

“They better not card at the reception.”

“I’ll get you drinks.”

“You just want to get me back into your hotel room.” Yuri says, waggling an eyebrow.

“Already did. Years ago.”

“That doesn’t count, anyway.” Yuri says airily, looking out over the square. He’s bundled up to the point of barely more than his eyes and the red tops of his cheeks being visible. His hair is down, and the strands poking out of his scarf shine like spun gold in the lamplight. Otabek thinks about peeling him out of all those clothes later and kissing his hair, burying his face in it.

“You look gorgeous, Yura.”

Otabek swears he hears Yuri’s neck crack as he whips it around.

“Fuck off.” He huffs, crossing his legs. “Can’t even see my fuckin’ face, weirdo. Out here freezing our balls off. I wanna take a bath when we get…”

Yuri falls silent as he notices Otabek carefully pull his gloves off, place them on his knee, and then reach into his own jacket. He extracts a very small box, smaller than that of a watch or a ring even. Yuri looks equal parts perplexed and terrified. Otabek holds it out in his naked palm.

“Take it, Yura.”

“The fuck is this?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Yuri groans and snatches it from Otabek’s hand. But he’s uncrossed his legs, and his fingers tremble as they pry the tiny box open.

Inside is a single ear stud, a titanium circle with a blue-green stone set in the center. It twinkles in the light of the streetlamps.

“Fuck.”

“I think it’ll go well with--”

“--my eyes, I know.” Yuri’s voice is quiet, and half an octave high. He pulls his own gloves off and places them on top of Otabek’s. He clumsily tugs the small ring he had in his right ear out and shoves it in his coat pocket. Otabek, unable to stop grinning, carefully pulls the stud out of the cardboard and holds it to drop in Yuri’s palm. Yuri doesn’t say anything, and leans his head forward so that only the tip of his nose pokes out of the curtain of his hair as he fastens the earring.

When he finishes, he reaches for Otabek’s still-bare hand and covers it.

“You didn’t have to, Beka.”

“I wanted to.”

He runs his hand up Yuri’s arm to tangle in his hair, and gently turns his head to face him. Yuri tucks his hair behind his right ear and tilts his head, the stone sparkling with his eyes. It really is a perfect match.  
“How’s it look?”

“It’s lovely.” Otabek has to rock forward to press his lips to Yuri’s temple, and his cheek, right next to his ear. It’s a little awkward, but Yuri blushes all the same. The gloves fall from his lap as Yuri cups his face with both hands and kisses him.

“We don’t even celebrate Christmas.” Yuri says into his neck as he wraps him in a hug.

“Then don’t think of it as a Christmas present.”

“You’re a fucking sap.” Yuri says with a loud sniff.

“Wait till I’m drunk tomorrow night.”

“Don’t fucking embarrass me. I love you.”

For Yuri, this is the first real gift.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr and twitter, topdollarwitch. Fic blog: witchsvoid.


End file.
